


Give me a slice, of this apple-pie life

by chambers_none



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, a little angst to keep you warm tonight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 17:53:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chambers_none/pseuds/chambers_none
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Sam ever managed it without him, Dean doesn't know, because he sure as hell isn't managing it without Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give me a slice, of this apple-pie life

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little drabble I wrote when I started anguishing all over my laptop after having finished the fifth season. Damn, Supernatural writers, damn.

Sometimes Dean can't get out of bed.

 

He'll wake up, body going through the motions despite his heart's protests, and he'll stare at the ceiling and listen to the calm sounds of the suburbs outside- the occasional station wagon starting, a dog barking, a mother calling for her children. It's calm, and peaceful, and normal.

 

Always too calm, and too peaceful and. It's- it's not normal.

 

Not for him, anyway.

 

He'll stare at the ceiling, the space Lisa left behind warm: she understands that Dean isn't quite what he was when he was seventeen, and not just in the I've-aged sense; they don't have sex, but by the second night she's managed to coerce him into sleeping together. Sometimes she'll attempt to cuddle him, to draw him in close; Dean's thoughts are always far away when he wraps his arms around her.

 

The second thing that never fails to surprise him is how soft the sheets are. They're not starched, for one thing, or reeking of chemicals to keep it from staining or et cetera. They're pleasant-smelling, and always so soft.

 

It's different, from what him and Sam are-

 

His train of thoughts are always cut off then.

 

He almost thinks You Know Who, and almost laughs, because Sam loved-

 

And then he remembers to use past tense.

 

Were.

 

His throat constricts.

 

On those days he imagines Lisa'll tell a disappointed, but understanding, in the way kids know something bad is up and try to be nice about it, Ben that Dean isn't driving him to school today. They'll sit down and have breakfast, and maybe look at the chair Dean usually occupies because even for a short time he's always had a large presence.

He likes to think that, anyway.

 

He knows he should get up, and he does but only after his bladder is pressing him to, or his stomach is wreaking too much havoc on him. It'll take hours, of course, maybe at dusk. But. Sometimes he scoffs at how weak his body is, although he knows all that kind of thinking will do is make him go to bed and be a useless person once more.

 

Lisa always brings him food, anyway, except for the two times she thought she shouldn't encourage him. 

 

There isn't anything on the ceiling. No suspicious stains, no crack running parallel to the lamplight.

 

It's an apple-pie life.


End file.
